She was long, gangly and awkward, like what I’d imagine a female Ichabod Crane would look like. She was there, like always, behind the long rectangular faux wood table sitting on an unnaturally burgundy colored chair that was dwarfed in comparison to her size. But she was not heavy, not in the slightest. In fact, she was especially thin which may have intensified the gangly look.
And the slouching didn’t distract anyone from her height, whether that was the intent or not. Both elbows were resting on the table, her forearms like two cylindrical yardsticks. They nearly rose higher than her downturned head. She took a bite of an apple from her left hand. With a twist of her wrist, she propped it up in that hand and held it there as if she was presenting it to an invisible someone standing to the left of her. The right hand was slumped and turned inward, held up by the arm that was subconsciously mimicking the other arm serving the purpose.
It was 12 o’clock and it was lunchtime.
Although she was slouched over, her hair did not fall in front of her face. It was held together in a tight knot at the back of her head. Not a loose strand veered or went astray. Had some hair got loose, maybe it would have shielded her Ichabod nose. It really was only slightly bent at the bridge, and only noticeable if you could look past her height to see her face, which most didn’t.
I still say she could’ve been pretty with some make up. Or at least feminine. Her features were so pale, so muted, almost colorless. It was like looking at a living coloring book character. Her lips weren’t even pink.
I’m not sure if she ever noticed me noticing her. She mostly stared at the table, but every five minutes or so, she would glance up at the wall clock in front of her. I sometimes wondered if she was willing the hands on the clock to move faster, or if she was worried that she’d be late. I also wondered, though less frequently, why I bothered to care.
Just because she was family didn't mean I had to care about her. And I certainly wouldn't let any one at my lunch table know if I did. But it doesn't matter because I don't.
